Part 2The Unsigned Indenture

I skipped dinner and went straight to my bedroom.

It was less a bedroom and more a guest room converted from a storage closet.

The master bedroom was where Aidan slept alone. Or rather, where he slept with the "memories" of Evelyn.

He only ever graced my room when he had… needs. When he required me to fulfill my wifely duties.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My face was sallow, fine lines webbing the corners of my eyes. My hair was as dry and brittle as straw. I didn't look thirty-five. I could have passed for fifty.

The girl who was once the prettiest in her town had withered into a weed.

I remembered when I first came to the Croft house.

The filth, the foul smells, and the handsome, helpless Aidan.

His mother, paralyzed and bitter, had been abusive to every caregiver, driving them all away within three days.

Then I came. And I stayed.

I stayed because of the look of utter helplessness and pleading on his face when I first tried to quit.

I stayed because of the undisguised joy in his eyes when I agreed to remain.

Later, my family called, telling me to come home for an arranged marriage.

I tried to resign again.

Aidan had said to me, "A blind marriage is an irresponsible way to live. You know this family, and you know me. I'll marry you."

Thinking of the deep love in his eyes when he looked at his late wife's photo, some devil in me made me agree.

Because I wanted him to look at me like that, too.

I thought, if I waited long enough, he would.

The house gradually quieted down as the guests left.

Aidan pushed my door open. He was holding a plastic bag.

"For you."

He tossed it onto the bed.

It was a pair of knee braces. Wool. They looked thick and warm.

My heart skipped. Was it because he saw my burned hand and felt guilty?

Or was it because today was our wedding anniversary? He’d never remembered it before, but maybe subconsciously he wanted to be kind to me?

For a fleeting second, a flicker of that stupid, womanly fantasy flared up.

I reached for the knee braces, about to say something soft.

Aidan loosened his tie, his tone cool.

"Mom's arthritis acts up this time of year. These are good quality. Make sure she wears them tonight."

"And try to be quicker when she calls you at night. Don't let her wet the bed. The smell lingers in the house."

My outstretched hand froze in mid-air.

I felt like a clown who’d just been slapped in front of a crowd.

They weren't for me.

They were a tool for his mother.

And I was just the person who operated the tool.

"Also," Aidan said, not even looking at me as he turned to leave, "you spilled that soup. Mop the floor again in the morning. Make sure there's no smell. And don't you ever touch Evelyn's memorial table again."

I tried to smile, but my face twisted into something uglier than a sob.

"Aidan."

I called his name.

He stopped, turning back with a questioning look. "What is it?"

"I want a divorce."

Four words. I said them quietly, but clearly.

Aidan stared at me for a moment, then let out a short, dismissive laugh.

He looked at me like I was a child throwing a tantrum. He pulled out his wallet and took out a thick wad of cash.

Maybe two or three thousand dollars.

He slapped it onto the nightstand.

"Upset that the students mistook you for the help? Fine. Take this, buy some decent clothes. I'm tired. Don't make trouble."

He walked out without a backward glance.

I followed him.

He didn't go to the master bedroom. He went to the study.

The door was slightly ajar.

I never went in there alone. Even cleaning it required his permission.

Through the crack, I saw Aidan sitting at the Steinway piano.

It had been Evelyn's favorite, I’d heard.

His long fingers gently caressed the keys, his eyes so tender they could have dripped water, as if he were stroking his lover’s skin.

It was a look I had never, not for a single second in eight years, received.

He murmured to the empty air, "Evelyn, I won the award today. If only you were here…"

I pushed the door open.

Aidan’s head snapped around, the tenderness in his eyes instantly turning to shards of ice.

"Who let you in here? Get out!"

I looked at the gleaming black piano, then at the man who was supposedly my husband.

"I'm serious. I want a divorce."

This time, Aidan didn't even bother to turn his head. He pressed a key, a single, clear note ringing out.

"Linda, I just transferred you this month's household money yesterday. If you want more, just say so. Don't resort to these cheap tactics."

In his eyes, every emotion I had could be converted into a dollar amount.

I looked at his face, still so handsome and refined.

A wave of nausea washed over me.

It was more sickening than looking at a bedsheet soaked in piss and shit.

"I am serious. We are getting divorced tomorrow."

I turned and closed the door, shutting the man who was drowning in memories of his dead wife inside his own tomb.